


In the Shadows of Night

by Miya_Morana



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Grooming, M/M, Past Abuse, Peter is creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-23
Updated: 2012-10-23
Packaged: 2017-11-16 21:43:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/544146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miya_Morana/pseuds/Miya_Morana
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Isaac signed up to be a werewolf, he didn't know the deal included sharing a roof with a creepy undead thirty-something guy who might be trying to seduce him. And Peter can be very persuasive and surprisingly considerate when he wants something. As Isaac tries to figure out his treacherous feelings while battling nightmares about his father, Derek is looking for the Alphas and trying to protect his pack. And if that means spending most nights with Stiles doing research, well, it's really none of Isaac's business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In the Shadows of Night

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the undeadbigbang. 
> 
> Basically this one is entangled_now's fault for making me want to write Peter/Isaac in the first place. Huge thanks to maybemalapert and morganoconner for being the most awesome alpha-readers and cheerleaders ever, this fic wouldn't have been as good without you (and akadougal's job would have been harder too :P). Big thanks too to entangled_now for her support and akadougal for the beta. ♥
> 
> Heard_the_owl made some great art pieces for this fic. You can find it all [here](http://heard-the-owl.livejournal.com/36481.html) as well as embedded in the story. Go and drop her a word! :)

When Isaac signed up to be a werewolf, he should have asked to see the fine print. There are a lot of things that shouldn’t have been part of the deal, but apparently were. The first one had been being accused of his father’s murder, though granted that hadn’t been Derek’s fault. Well, not entirely, since it was kind of partially his fault that Jackson had turned into a kanima. 

Then there was the kanima, and the living in an abandoned subway station, and now in that creepy, burned-out house, and let’s not even talk about the pack of territorial alphas here for... Well, they still weren’t quite sure what the Alpha pack wanted, but it couldn’t be good. Because it was _never_ good.

One thing Derek had been up-front about at least had been the Argents, though he hadn’t been ready for Gerard’s particularly psychopathic brand of werewolf hunting. He knows Derek is a bit in over his head and trying to do his best with everything that’s thrown at him. Still, Isaac wishes someone had warned him he was stepping into a world in which it was almost normal to share a roof with the undead.

It could be easy to forget, when you look at Peter Hale’s calm and collected demeanor, that he used to be a sociopathic killer on a revenge murder spree before he became a crispy corpse. Especially since Isaac hasn’t witnessed any of it. But Isaac never forgets, not for one second. Because there’s something creepy and powerful and scary about Peter, something in his sly grins and his elegantly raised eyebrows and the way he just _looms_ over everyone and everything that screams “predator”. Something that just screams of danger.

Isaac knows of broken men who like to feel powerful, and his father only had Matt’s almost-drowning on his conscience. Peter’s story, which Isaac put together from bits and pieces he managed to get out of Scott and Derek and even Stiles, is so much worse. 

The man witnessed his entire family’s death while fire devoured his flesh. It took him years to escape the prison of his own mind, only to wake up with his niece’s blood on his hands. And then he was set on fire again and killed by his own nephew. “Broken” can’t even _begin_ to describe what Peter must be.

Isaac’s instincts should tell him to run away as fast as he can from that man. But he feels lonely, and even bad company is better than no company at all, apparently. So if he only squirms uncomfortably when Peter walks into the living room instead of leaving, that’s just because Derek is off at Stiles’s again, harassing him for research as if Peter’s laptop couldn’t get the job done.

Also, there’s no electricity in his room upstairs and he doesn’t like doing his homework in the dark, werewolf night vision or not.

Isaac watches with a careful eye as Peter runs a finger along the spines of the books on the shelf. They’re Boyd’s books, mostly, or were until he ran away with Erica. It started with classic novels, then he brought some textbooks on anatomy, and when Isaac added a few of his favorite comic books to the bookshelf, Erica stuck a pile of romance novels next to Boyd’s complete Jules Verne collection

Peter looks at the titles for a little while before dragging a book out and settling down on the couch, where Isaac is currently trying to understand the chem assignment laid in front of him on the wobbly coffee table. And either Peter has no notion of personal space or he just enjoys making Isaac uncomfortable, but instead of sitting at the other end of the couch he sits in the middle, right next to Isaac, his leg pressing against Isaac’s, warm and firm and just too intrusive.

Isaac tries to ignore it, swallowing reflexively as he concentrates on his homework. Or tries to. The sound of pages turning, the small amused breaths that Peter huffs every now and then, the arm constantly brushing against Isaac are just distracting, and when he glances in Peter’s direction, half of the time he finds the older men meeting his eyes. And there’s something in them, something that makes his heartbeat quicken in a mix of fear and...something else. Something he refuses to even think about, because he’s too afraid of what he might find.

Discretely, Isaac tries to see what Peter is reading, because he’s curious and he doesn’t really care about chemistry anyway. But neither the name of the author nor the title is printed at the top of the pages, and it’s difficult to actually _read_ enough of the text in just a few quick glances to get a real idea of what it’s about.

“You know, Isaac, if you want something, you should ask,” Peter says casually as he flips the next page. “It’s only polite, after all. You _are_ polite, aren’t you?”

He looks at Isaac sideways, mockingly but almost fondly, and Isaac swallows around his discomfort. There’s a blush creeping up his cheeks, but he wills it down.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes out. Then, after a silence, “What are you reading?”

In answer, Peter half-closes his book and lifts it to show Isaac the cover, on which he can see _The Picture of Dorian Gray_ written in big silver letters. Isaac doesn’t know what he was expecting, but he’s still surprised.

“Have you ever read it?” Peter asks, leaning a bit closer to Isaac, who shakes his head. “Do you know what it’s about?”

“A guy whose painting grows old instead of him?” Isaac replies softly, because he might not have as much culture as Boyd but it’s a classic, so he knows that much.

“Not exactly,” Peter says, and his voice is as low as Isaac’s had been. Isaac leans almost unconsciously closer. “The painting doesn’t only take his years, it also leaves him free of any trace of his sins. Gray can do anything he wants, there will never be any proof of it on his perfect face. He keeps looking so lovely, no one would ever suspect him of doing any wrong. It’s the most powerful thing in the world, the ability to charm people, to seduce them into trusting you.”

Their heads are so close to each other’s that Peter’s breath is lightly ghosting over Isaac’s face, almost intimate. Isaac doesn’t say anything, his words stuck in his throat as he doesn’t know how to react to the current situation. He should straighten up, away from where Peter’s eyes are pinning him down expectantly, because there’s something so wrong and _off_ , and that’s fear making his breath falter, he knows it is, but he just can’t move.

“Of course, it all ends badly for him,” Peter smirks, eventually breaking the silence. “Because stories need to have a moral of sorts, and Oscar Wilde was smart enough to know that. It didn’t prevent him from getting into trouble with justice anyway, but that’s an entirely different story.” 

He chuckles, like it’s a particularly clever joke or something, a deep sound that makes Isaac swallow around the lump in his throat and finally lean away from the older man. Slowly. Carefully. 

“I, um, should get back to this,” Isaac says, waving vaguely toward his homework. “Or Harris will have my skin.”

Peter’s jaw clenches at that, his eyes going hard and his knuckles whitening where he’s clutching the book. Isaac isn’t sure exactly what he did to set off this reaction, but he doesn’t look away from Peter, watching him take a deep breath and close down his book. Peter gets up and leaves, without another word.

Isaac shakes his head after a few seconds spent staring at the door. No use trying to figure out what’s going through Peter’s mind. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t really want to know. He completes his Chemistry assignment then. It’s sloppy, but Chem’s never been his strongest class and it’s not like he actually cares. As long as he has _something_ to show Harris, he’ll be left alone.

Isaac gathers his papers and puts everything back in his school bag, so he’s sure he doesn’t forget it in the morning, then looks down at the book Peter abandoned on the couch. He lets his fingers trail over the cover, lifts it up, and opens it to the first page. He stares at the words a moment, hesitating. There’s a noise upstairs and Isaac jumps to his feet, startled. 

When the noise is only followed by silence, Isaac sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. He closes the book and goes to put it back in the bookshelf, but eventually just leaves it on the coffee table in case Peter changes his mind at some point and comes back looking for it.

The clock on the wall says it’s ten to five, which means it’s actually already past midnight and he has to wake up early for school, so Isaac heads for the kitchen. The bathroom upstairs is miraculously in relatively good state, but it still has no water, and the one downstairs is basically just a charred hole with a blackened and twisted showerhead, so Isaac brushes his teeth and washes his face over the kitchen sink before climbing the stairs to the first floor.

Only two bedrooms still have four walls, a floor and a ceiling, and Isaac can hear Peter’s breathing in Derek’s room. He’s not asleep yet, and Isaac can just visualize him lying on the mattress on the floor, staring up into nothingness. He’s glad Derek put the extra mattress in his own room and not the one Isaac’s claimed for himself. He doesn’t know how he would have coped with Peter’s eyes on him while he tries to sleep.

Isaac strips down to his boxers and sits down on his bed, wincing at the noise the old rusty frame makes under his weight. He checks that the alarm clock on his cellphone is on and slips under the covers, trying not to make too much noise even though it’s not like it would wake anyone up. Derek’s still not back, but if he needed him he would have called. 

Isaac briefly wonders if Derek will let Stiles get any sleep tonight or if Stiles will be snoring in Harris’s class, before shrugging the thought away. Closing his eyes, he slows down his breathing until he reaches that slightly less tensed state in which he can find sleep, and drifts off.

It’s been weeks since the last time he had one of his nightmares. They had decreased when Erica had joined the pack and started spending most nights with them, and had completely disappeared with Boyd’s arrival. It’s really a blessing it took them so long to come back.

Isaac wakes up from the dream memory of being trapped inside their old freezer – fingernails bleeding as he tries to scratch his way out, lip stinging where his father’s blow has opened it – and there’s a warm hand on his shoulder, rubbing his upper arm in the dark. Isaac can feel where the bed dips under Peter’s weight, can hear the shushing sounds the older man makes, can smell the almost familiar scent of his skin, and it anchors him in the present, shreds away the remnants of the nightmare.

He should recoil from Peter’s touch or shrug his hand away. That’s what his body tells him, what his instinct tells him. Peter isn’t safe. But he’s still better than the nightmare. Isaac keeps his eyes firmly on the wall in front of him, not looking at Peter, and doesn’t move. After a minute or two, he can feel his muscles start to relax. Peter’s hand keeps stroking his arm soothingly, his fingers brushing Isaac’s side every now and then. It almost feels like a caress.

“Do you want me to leave?” Peter asks quietly in the darkness.

Isaac takes in a shaky breath, then exhales slowly, shaking his head. Peter moves behind him, lifting the sheets to slide in against Isaac’s back. Isaac has to wiggle a little as Peter settles in, wrapping an arm around his chest. He tries very hard not to think of what the older werewolf is doing as _spooning_ , because no, just no.

He doesn’t know why he didn’t nod, or even muttered “yes” and maybe “thanks”. This is such a bad idea, for so many reasons. One of these reasons is that Peter is completely naked, and people say nudity makes you vulnerable but with Peter it’s almost the opposite. Isaac is the one feeling vulnerable and intimidated. Also, just so slightly turned on.

Which, God, Peter can probably _smell_ on him. This is mortifying.

“Relax,” Peter breathes quietly against his neck, sounding vaguely amused. 

And then that bastard moves even closer, plastering his body against Isaac’s back. The hold of his arm on Isaac’s chest tightens and he flattens his hand Isaac’s stomach with a small sigh.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Isaac complains, and Peter chuckles.

“Of course I am,” he admits, shamelessly pressing his half-hard cock against the curve of Isaac’s ass. “But I won’t do anything you don’t ask me to, you have my word.”

Isaac is aware of the small noise that escapes his throat. It’s half grateful and half desperate, and makes Peter huff amusement against his shoulder. But as promised he doesn’t do anything else, and after a little while Isaac’s heartbeat slows down a little. He eventually drifts off to sleep again, and this time if his dreams are restless it’s for entirely different reasons.

There’s something kind of surreal about watching Peter Hale eat soggy cereal in the ruins of the kitchen. They’ve been doing basic repairs to make the house livable, which is why they have electricity and water downstairs now, and a small fridge which Isaac doesn’t want to know where Derek found, but the kitchen walls are still blackened or even crumbling in places.

Once again, it occurs to Isaac that Peter almost died in this house. And then _actually_ died right outside of it. And now he’s here again, munching on Cheerios with too much milk, his long legs stretched out underneath the cheap table and pressing ever so lightly against Isaac’s calf. 

It’s distracting. And making him feel uncomfortable. Which is probably the whole point. He can’t make himself be angry at Peter though, not really, because he remembers how reassuring Peter’s hand had been on his shoulder when he woke him up from his nightmare. Of course, then he remembers how warm the same hand has been against his stomach when Peter held him through the night, which leads him to think of Peter’s naked body wrapped around him, and really, the breakfast table is not an appropriate place to have a morning erection.

His ears pick up the sound of a car approaching, and soon he recognizes the characteristic roar of the Camaro’s engine. Isaac finishes his bowl and gets up to wash the dishes, glad to have an excuse to put a little distance between him and Peter. He can hear Derek walk into the house, stop in the hallway for an instant, then come towards the kitchen to join them.

The door opens with a loud _bang_ and Derek, frowning, takes a deep breath. Then his eyes turn red and he moves alpha-fast to grab Peter and slam him against a wall, which crumbles a little more.

“What did you do?” Derek growls, glaring at Peter like he’s going to rip out his throat.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Peter smirks.

Derek narrows his eyes. “Don’t play this game with me, Peter. You two smell of each other.”

“And you smell of Stiles.” Peter shrugs. “Yet do you see me make any sort of accusation?”

Derek makes a sound of pure fury that makes Isaac almost want to crawl into a corner and hide. He doesn’t move, though, because the anger isn’t directed at him. From where he is he can see Peter clench his jaw, the only sign that he felt the wave of Derek’s power hit him.

“What. Did. You. Do?” Derek grits through his teeth, his hand tightening around Peter’s neck.

“He didn’t do anything!” Isaac blurts out.

Derek’s head snaps towards him, and Isaac looks away when he meets the Alpha’s red eyes. He’s not trying to challenge Derek’s authority. Instead, he looks at Peter, who’s smiling at him approvingly. 

“Then explain,” Derek commands.

“I had a nightmare,” Isaac says, trying not to blush from embarrassment. “A bad memory. He helped. I’m not a weak little boy who needs to be protected anymore, Derek, you made sure of that.”

Derek stares at him, as if trying to read Isaac’s thoughts, or maybe smell them, who knows. Slowly, he loosens his hold on Peter’s throat. Peter steps away from the wall, lazily stretching his back.

“If he does anything,” Derek says slowly, “or _makes you_ do anything against your will, you come to me. _Anything_ , understood?”

Isaac nods. It’s obvious from Derek’s scowl that he doesn’t like it, doesn’t like any of it, and Isaac hopes it’s because he cares about him, not just because he’s a control freak. But whatever the reason, it’s nice to know that if things get out of hand, if _Peter_ gets out of hand, Derek will have his back.

“Grab your things, I’m driving you to school,” Derek says.

There’s no arguing with that tone, so Isaac picks up his school bag and follows his Alpha out. The drive is silent, and though Isaac’s grown used to Derek’s taciturnity, this time it’s more tense than usual, and Isaac starts chewing on the nail of his right thumb, nervous. 

Derek stops in front of the school and Isaac reaches to open his door when a strong hand grabs his arm. He turns his head back to face Derek, who still vaguely looks like he wants to murder someone.

“Listen, I know you think it’s not my business,” Derek grits out, “but it is, because I’m the Alpha and I don’t _trust_ him. Not completely. And neither should you.”

“I know,” Isaac says. 

And it’s the truth. Peter still makes him uneasy, even a little bit scared. The problem, he suddenly realizes, is that he kind of likes that. He doesn’t want to think too much about what that means about him.

Derek lets go of his arm and grunts out a “see you later” as Isaac climbs out of the car. Isaac watches the Camaro pull away then heads to class.

He was right about his Chem homework. As in, he got it completely wrong. But Harris was too busy chewing up Stiles, who hadn’t done his at all, to really notice. Stiles is slouched in his chair, like he’s trying to sink under the table and away from Harris’s half-hidden insults and the other students’ stares. The smell of his embarrassment is so strong it almost hides Derek’s scent on him.

Almost.

When Harris finally turns his back on them to write something on the blackboard, Scott leans close to Stiles and starts whispering. It’s too tempting to listen in on them, especially since the first thing out of Scott’s mouth is Derek’s name.

“Derek had you steal what?” he asks, obviously continuing a previous conversation.

“Borrow,” Stiles corrects, stifling a yawn. “He had me borrow one of my dad’s old uniforms, from before he was elected sheriff. And then we went to the station and he looked up some police reports, checked records of abandoned buildings where the pack might be hiding out, stuff like that. Took a good part of the night.”

“Did you get any sleep at all?” Scott scowls, because Stiles looks positively exhausted.

“Not really,” Stiles says, looking away.

“Mr Stilinski, if your conversation with Mr McCall is _so_ important, the two of you can finish it in detention,” Harris interrupts.

Isaac feels sorry for them, he really does. But the identical groans and desperate faces they make are kind of too comical for him not to smile.

Isaac spends several hours that night going through empty warehouses with Derek and Peter, looking for the Alpha pack. They don’t find any trace of them, but Isaac comes to think that the abandoned subway station Derek had made their previous hideout wasn’t that bad, after all.

Derek calls off the search a little bit around 2 am. He hasn’t slept for over 40 hours, but he sends Isaac and Peter home while he plans on stopping by Jackson’s and then Scott’s to recruit them for the search. They might not be pack, but this concerns them too, after all.

Isaac stretches his back as he walks into his bedroom, then takes his shirt off. When he turns around, he notices Peter leaning against the doorframe, looking at him with a smile that speaks volumes of what he’s thinking about. Isaac suppresses a small shiver and sits on his bed to kick off his shoes.

“It’s a bit creepy when you do that,” he says, to fill the silence.

“I’m just admiring the view,” Peter replies, his smile growing wider, more predatory. “Do you want me to leave?”

It’s the same question, the exact same words that Peter used the previous night. Isaac is tempted to say no, to invite Peter into his bed and let him wrap his body around him. 

“Yeah, if you don’t mind?”

Peter pouts exaggeratedly, which makes the corner of Isaac’s lips curl up. He shakes his head slightly and Peter sighs almost dramatically and turns around. Isaac bites his lip for a couple of seconds before calling after him.

“Peter?”

The older man is back in the doorway in an instant.

“Yes, Isaac?” he asks, raising an eyebrow.

“If...If the dreams come back, will you...?” Isaac doesn’t know how to finish that sentence without sounding either pathetic or like he’s hitting on Peter, but Peter’s smiles is softer, _understanding_ , as he nods.

“Of course.”

“Thanks,” Isaac breathes out.

He strips down to his boxers, slides under the covers and falls asleep almost at once. Only to wake up gasping for air and shaking after another nightmare. Peter is sitting by his side on the bed, wrapping an arm around his shoulders, and Isaac instinctively buries his face against Peter’s chest, fighting back the tears threatening to fall.

He clings to Peter for a while, getting his breathing back under control as the older man rubs circles on his back, making small shushing noises. Peter’s body is strong and solid and real, more real than the memory of his father’s drunken beating. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Peter asks eventually, when Isaac’s breathing is back to normal.

“No,” Isaac whispers against Peter’s skin. It feels almost more intimate than when Peter had been pressing against his back. “No, I really don’t.”

“Okay,” Peter replies, tracing a finger along Isaac’s spine, slow and deliberate. “Then tell me what you want.”

Isaac’s breath catches in his throat, and his hold on Peter’s other arm tightens slightly, reflexively. Peter’s finger dips lower, to the small of Isaac’s back, stopping just shy of his underwear, all silent suggestion. Isaac can feel his own cock grow hard, can smell the scent of arousal on Peter’s skin. He knows what he wants. He also knows he probably shouldn’t want it.

“Touch me.”

“I already am,” Peter chuckles, but he presses his hand flat against Isaac’s skin.

“You’re going to make me spell it out?” Isaac complains, straightening up to look Peter in the eyes, going for a glare but not really managing it.

“I’m not making you do anything,” Peter smirks. “You heard our Alpha’s command just as well as me. I’m just making sure I don’t do _anything_ you don’t want.”

“Don’t talk about Derek now,” Isaac says, knowing perfectly that it’s just an excuse to play with him. It’s intimidating and ever so slightly humiliating, but damn, does it turn him on. “Touch my dick,” he breathes out, feeling a blush color his cheeks.

Peter drags the back of his hand over Isaac’s stomach, then hooks a finger into his underwear and leaves it there, smirking. Isaac squirms, rocks his hips upwards, just a little. The fabric of his boxer shorts tears and the garment falls around his thighs, revealing his erection and, over it, the long claws on Peter’s morphed hand.

“Fuck!” Isaac exclaims.

“That’s the general idea, yes,” Peter comments, amused.

Then he carefully strokes the length of Isaac’s cock with the blunt back of a claw, from the base all the way to the head. Isaac grabs Peter’s shoulder for support as he moans, loud in the empty house. Peter looks smug, and totally composed, even though another glance down tells Isaac just how hard the other man is.

“You like what you’re seeing?” Peter asks with a throaty laugh that sends shivers through Isaac’s spine.

“Yeah,” Isaac nods. “Can I...?”

“You can touch,” Peter says, low and sultry. “You can taste. You can do whatever you want.”

He wraps his fingers –human again– around Isaac’s cock as he speaks, giving it a little tug that drags a broken sound out of Isaac’s throat. His other hand gently grabs Isaac’s wrist and drags it toward his own dick. Isaac bites his lip, then slowly wraps his fingers around it. Peter makes a greedy noise as he pushes up into Isaac’s hand.

It’s slow at first, and Isaac rests his forehead against Peter’s temple as he just _feels_. He’s not sure which one of them picks up the rhythm and which one follows, but after a little while he’s panting against Peter’s cheek as they’re both moving their hands faster and jerking their hips up to meet each stroke. The tension’s building in Isaac and he can feel his jaw widen, his teeth turn into fangs, and it sends his heart pounding with panic.

“That’s okay,” Peter grunts, tightening the hand he has on Isaac’s waist. “We can work on your restraint later.”

Isaac growls, and it sounds animal, feral, even to his own ears, but Peter just keeps jerking him off. Isaac scrapes his teeth on Peter’s jaw, resisting the urge to bite down on the bone structure, and Peter makes an encouraging noise that sounds like a yes, and that’s it, Isaac tips over the edge. He comes with a full-body shudder, a small howl in his throat and the taste of Peter’s skin on his tongue.

When he comes down from the high of his orgasm, he finds Peter watching him as if he’d want nothing more than to devour him. Isaac’s hand on the other man’s cock has stilled, so he starts moving again. His eyes stray to Peter’s lips, slightly parted as Peter breathes shallowly, occasionally exhaling a word of encouragement or approval as he thrusts up into Isaac’s hand.

Peter comes with a low groan, suddenly burying his face in the crook of Isaac’s neck. He stays there as he catches his breath, smirking against Isaac’s skin. Isaac stares down at his come-covered hand, thinks they should get up, clean themselves up a little, but he doesn’t want to move.

He’s trying to wrap his head around the enormity of what he just did. Other than have the best orgasm he can remember. He doesn’t know what the consequences of this are going to be, but he doesn’t doubt that there _will_ be consequences. Because this is Peter, and because this is a world where nothing ever comes free.

Isaac isn’t sure at first what wakes him up, because it’s still dark outside and Peter is still wrapped around his back, holding him possessively, his breathing betraying that he too is awake. The uncertainty doesn’t last for long, though. He can feel his Alpha’s presence. Isaac raises his head and looks over Peter’s body, and sure enough Derek’s there, looming by the door, all tight anger.

“If you aren’t going to challenge my claim, o mighty Alpha, I’d suggest you stop lurking over there,” Peter quietly says, not even bothering to move his head from the pillow. His arm around Isaac’s chest tightens a little.

Derek glares at them –or just at Peter, it’s hard to say– but eventually he turns around and stomps off. Isaac waits until he can hear the sound of Derek’s door slamming shut, even though the Alpha can most likely still hear them if he wants to.

“Your claim?” Isaac asks, soft, trying not to sound too freaked out. Does Peter see him as a thing that he owns now?

“He really didn’t tell you much about how packs work, did he?” Peter sighs. “It’s the middle of the night, we can have the lesson on pack dynamics and Alpha privileges tomorrow.”

“What if I want a lesson now?”

Peter groans, but he sits up on his elbow, looking down at Isaac who’s now lying on his back. In the dark, it’s difficult to read his expression.

“There are so many things I could teach you,” he says, sultry and low. “I’m not sure you want to know all of them.”

Isaac swallows around the lump forming in his throat at the tone of danger creeping back in Peter’s voice. It occurs to him, suddenly, that even though Peter says he won’t do anything Isaac doesn’t want, the older man _will_ do as he pleases, he’ll just make Isaac want it first.

And he’s really good at that.

“As an Alpha,” Peter says, slowly dragging a finger down Isaac’s chest, “Derek could claim any member of his pack as his mate. And before you ask, no, werewolves don’t _necessarily_ mate for life.”

“But you said _you_ had a claim. On me.” 

Isaac swallows, then sucks in a breath when Peter tugs on the curly hair just under his belly button. Peter doesn’t reply, doesn’t say anything. He just keeps his fingers moving on Isaac’s stomach, playful and possessive at the same time.

Peter is no Dorian Gray. He looks the opposite of innocent and pure. He looks like sin and danger, with a touch of insanity, and yet Isaac finds it so much more appealing than, say, Scott’s puppy eyes and earnestness. 

“Do I have a claim on you?” he asks eventually, his voice low and a little bit rougher than he expected.

“Do you want to keep me all to yourself?” Peter asks back, and his fingers are claws grazing Isaac’s skin again. “Do you want mark my body as belonging to you, mark it with your scent and your teeth? Do you want me to belong to you?”

Isaac whimpers. He doesn’t know when or how it happened, though he’s pretty sure Peter did it on purpose, that he seduced and manipulated him into it, but yes, he wants these things. And that should scare him, but Isaac can’t feel past the wave of _want_ washing over him.

Peter is kissing his shoulder, not-quite-human teeth scraping his skin, and Isaac slides a hand into his hair, curls it, tugs on it a little. Peter looks up at him, eyes electric blue and mouth a little bit too wide, too full of teeth. He lets Isaac drag his head up, lets him press their lips together. The kiss is harsh and forceful, a fight of lips and tongues and teeth. It taste of blood when one of them cuts himself on sharp fangs, and Isaac’s nails dig into Peter’s skin where he’s holding the man against him.

Isaac gasps when their mouths finally part, and Peter looks at him with satisfaction, like a cat who finally caught the mouse he was after. It knocks the breath out of Isaac, torn once again between fear and lust, and he squirms under Peter.

“You should get some sleep,” Peter tells him. “You’re getting up in just a couple of hours.”

Isaac really doesn’t feel like sleeping, which he demonstrates by rubbing his erection up against Peter’s thigh with a soft moan. Peter smirks, tightening his grip on Isaac’s arm.

“You said there were things you could teach me?” Isaac says, feeling wicked, and Peter’s eyes gleam in the dark.

Isaac hides a yawn behind his hand when Finstock turns his back to draw a diagram on the blackboard.

“You too?” Danny comments, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you guys do, but maybe you should avoid school nights.”

He’s sitting next to Isaac, scribbling notes on the Invisible Hand of Market, because Danny has no trouble following an Economics class while talking softly with his neighbor. A few months ago, Isaac would have been impressed, would have been incapable of doing the same. A few months ago, Isaac would have blushed, as he always did when Danny talked to him.

“What do you mean?” he asks softly, trying not to attract attention to them.

“Jackon’s been irritable for a few days, like he always is when he doesn’t get enough sleep. Stiles looks like he hasn’t slept in a week. Even Scott was yawning in English Lit this morning. Seriously, whatever it is you guys are doing, remember that human beings require sleep to function correctly?”

“We’re not doing anything,” Isaac declares with a frown. 

He knows why Stiles is exhausted (Derek), and he hasn’t slept much at all last night himself (not that he’s complaining), but Scott and Jackson? Okay, Derek said he’d stop by to talk to them, but the Alpha got back a couple of hours later, and werewolves don’t need that much sleep.

“Yeah, right,” Danny sighs. “You know, I’m not completely stupid. I’m not buying Jackson’s excuse about nightmares, and I know all of you have some kind of big secret. I’m not going to push this, but I’d appreciate it if you just told me “sorry, we can’t tell you” instead of all the lying.”

“Jackson’s having nightmares?” Isaac asks, forgetting to keep his voice low enough.

“Lahey, move to the front desk,” Finstock calls.

“But...”

“Now!”

Isaac sighs, grabbing his things. He gives Danny one last inquisitive look as he gets up, but Danny’s looking down at his notes, so he reluctantly goes to sit down next to Greenburg. It’s probably nothing, he thinks. Jackson is allowed to have nightmares. Just because he’s been having bad dreams too doesn’t mean there’s a connection. But maybe it’s worth checking out.

He sits next to Stiles in Math class, which is their last period before lunch and a class they don’t share with Scott. Stiles looks at him warily, then shrugs it off. He still looks tired, but less so than he had the last few days. At least _he_ must have had a good night sleep while the pack was out looking for the Alphas.

“Do you know if Scott’s been having nightmares?” 

“What, not even a ‘hello, Stiles, how are you?’” Stiles complains, rolling his eyes. “And what the hell is it to you if Scott’s having bad dreams, anyway?” He frowns, looking suspicious. “How do you even know?”

“He has?” Isaac breathes out, half surprised. He was really expecting to be wrong, but this is just too much of a coincidence. “Damn.”

“Isaac?” Stiles presses, sensing there’s actually something important going on. “What is this about?”

“I... I’ve been having nightmares lately,” he says, looking down at the desk in front of him. “And according to Danny, so has Jackson.”

“Holy Moly,” Stiles exclaims, and then just nervously smiles around as everyone looks at them.

Fortunately the bell rings then and the class starts, sparing them having to give any sort of random explanation. God knows what Stiles would have come up with.

“What about Derek?” Stiles asks in a whisper, pretending to take notes.

“I don’t know,” Isaac replies, leaning towards Stiles so that his human ears can catch his words. “He hasn’t exactly been spending most of his nights home.”

Stiles’s neck turns a bright pink and his scent gives off a whiff of embarrassment. This is... okay, not _entirely_ surprising, but still, he had no idea anything was actually happening between them.

“ _So_ ,” Isaac teases, “does Derek sleep well when he’s with you?”

“Derek doesn’t sleep when he’s with me,” Stiles blurts out, looking even more embarrassed.

Isaac raises an eyebrow at that.

“Oh _God_ , that’s not what I meant, you stupid, pervert werewolf. We don’t...we’re not...” 

He’s fumbling for words, looking lost and flushed, and it’s just hilariously adorable. Isaac can’t help the corner of his mouth to stretch into a half-smirk. Stiles shoves his foot hard against Isaac’s leg under the desk.

“Jerk,” he says, glaring.

“Sorry,” Isaac chuckles. “But there _is_ something going on, right?”

“I don’t _know_ ,” Stiles groans. “One minute I could swear he’s flirting with me, and the next he’s back to the death glares of doom. But that’s not the _point_. The point is wolfy nightmares. That you may or may not all be having.”

“I don’t know if Peter... I’ll ask him, and I’ll ask Derek. Any idea of what might be causing it?” 

Because Stiles is becoming a research expert and he definitely knows more about most werewolf stuff than Isaac does. He wonders if he knows about Alpha privileges when it comes to mating.

“Well duh, the Alpha pack, obviously,” Stiles says, like Isaac should have known. 

“Yeah, okay, that would make sense, but _how_?”

Stiles looks at him with a surprised look on his face, then relaxes a little.

“Sometimes I forget you weren’t there for the whole psychotic Peter thing,” he breathes out, and Isaac grits his teeth. “Alphas can really mess with their Betas’ heads. Like try and make them do things, or make them dream about killing people. Maybe a whole pack of them can affect Betas from another pack. Perhaps even another Alpha?”

“I had no idea,” Isaac admits, looking away.

“Yeah,” Stiles breathes out. “Derek is a good Alpha. A bit clueless, but with good intentions. I wish Scott would see that.”

“So do I,” Isaac says. He really does like Scott.

When Isaac gets to the parking lot at the end of the day, Derek is sitting at the wheel of the Camaro, looking pissed off at the entire world. Nothing unusual there, so Isaac walks up to the car and opens the passenger door to slide on the seat.

“Stiles told me you blew him off when he texted you,” Isaac says as Derek starts the car.

“Why are the two of you interested in my sleeping schedule?” Derek asks with a glare.

“Not your schedule, your dreams. Jackson, Scott and I have been having nightmares. Stiles thinks–”

“All three of you?” Derek interrupts, frowning, and Isaac nods. “Damn it! I should have seen this.”

“How could you? “ Isaac shrugs. “It’s not as if any of them would have told you, and you know I used to have nightmares before.”

“Yes,” Derek grits out. “But yours coming back at the same time as mine? I should have known the Alphas were behind this.”

Derek takes a sharp turn to the right, towards the center of town instead of the direction of the woods.

“Where are we going?” Isaac asks, frowning.

Derek’s only form of answer is an irritated grunt, but soon Isaac recognizes the street they’re on. And sure enough, they take another right and park in front of the animal clinic. Derek doesn’t wait for him as he walks into the clinic, and Isaac follows him. There’s a woman with a cat on her lap in the waiting room, and the cat hisses at them.

“Maggy, I’m going to have to close early,” Dr Deaton says, calmly, from the counter. “I’m very sorry, it seems an emergency has come up.”

“But-” the woman starts, her eyes going back and forth between Deaton’s polite smile and Derek’s furious stare.

“I will give you directions to get to the clinic in Greenville,” Deaton cuts in. “It’s only a fifteen-minute drive from here and I can assure you Dr. Wilton is very competent. I will call ahead to let them know you’re coming.”

The woman tries to object, but Deaton very smoothly and efficiently ushers her out. As she walks out, Scott arrives. He looks surprised to see Isaac, and then his brow furrows when he spots Derek.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, and it sounds almost like an accusation.

“You need to call Jackson and tell him to come,” Derek demands. “Issac, get Peter.” Then he turns to Deaton, who is patiently waiting for an explanation. “It seems we have a lead on the Alphas, but we’re going to need your help.”

It takes them several hours to get everything, because apparently this is going to be more complicated than creating a mountain ash circle supernatural creatures can’t cross. They also called in Stiles and Lydia to help, both for the magic itself and to serve as anchors for Scott and Jackson, because they’re the closest thing they have to a pack.

It’s already well past midnight when Deaton declares them ready. There are arcane symbols drawn on the floor, candles and incense burning, and there’s some kind of static electricity in the air that prickles all over Isaac’s skin. He sits at the center of a chalk circle with Derek, Scott and Jackson. It’s awkward, because Derek keeps glaring at Scott, who avoids the Alpha’s eyes, and Jackson looks like he’d rather be anywhere else right now.

“I’m not sure I can do this,” Lydia whispers, leaning toward Stiles, but it’s Peter who whispers back.

“You will do just fine. Believe me.”

He smiles at her, half reassuring and half predator, and a wave of possessiveness washes over Isaac. Next to him, Jackson growls, and Peter’s smile widens, but he takes a small step back and nods at Isaac, which settles the wolf in him slightly.

Peter is going to be his and Derek’s anchor in the waking world. Isaac isn’t quite sure why, he thought at first that _he_ would be the one sitting out, because obviously Peter is stronger, older, so he would fare much better than Isaac. But the Hales had just looked at each other and silently decided this would be how they’d do it.

“Take your places,” Deaton says, as calm and professional as ever, and Peter, Lydia and Stiles sit down on the edge of the circle.

Deaton is walking around them, and Isaac tries to follow his movement, has to strain not to turn around when the vet walks behind his back. He’s murmuring things that are clearly not in English, and the sound of his voice is almost hypnotic.

No, strike the “almost”, it _is_ hypnotic. Isaac’s eyelids are heavy and he can feel his head starting to droop. The last thing he sees as he slips into the darkness of Not Sleep is Peter throwing a handful of dust in the air.

The Not Dream place is mostly darkness and loneliness at first. Isaac can’t feel his body, can’t feel anything but the chill of thoughts swirling around him. He knows, just _knows_ that his nightmares are lurking around him, on the edge of his consciousness -or rather his unconsciousness.

So he holds on tight to his pack bond. He can feel Peter’s solid presence far away, grounded but tormented, slightly wrong. Isaac almost wants to go after it, to follow it back to reality, where the monsters in your head can’t hurt you. But he can’t. They have a purpose here.

Through the bond he also finds Derek. It pulls them together in this Not Place. Derek feels less solid and real than Peter, but more whole. There are monsters lurking around him too, Isaac can see them at the corner of his vision (he doesn’t have eyes here, but still he sees). They take the shape of a beautiful and monstrous girl made of flame and cruel laughter, the shape of a chopped-off corpse with accusing eyes. Isaac doesn’t want to know what his own monsters and ghosts look like to Derek. He’s pretty sure they all wear his father’s face.

Finding Scott and Jackson is harder. They’re not pack, there’s no bond to follow to them. But maybe because their bodies are so close, or maybe because they _do_ share something –Isaac and Scott’s tentative friendship, the fact that Derek was the one to bite Jackson– they finally all end up at the same Not Place.

 _What now?_ Isaac wonders, trying to ignore the things whooshing around them.

 _Now we get past them._ It’s not Derek’s voice exactly, but it’s Derek. _All the way back to those who sent them._

Them. The terrors that have been keeping them awake at night. They’re still circling their little group, whispering in the dark. Space doesn’t work the same here, so it’s like they’re at one specific spot even though they seem to be all around at the same time. It takes everything out of Isaac to purposely move in that direction, even though the others’ presence is reassuring.

The things that go at them first are faceless. A man and a woman with claws and a scaled tail, hissing at them. As they move, a cold air follows them, seeping through Isaac. _I don’t belong here_ , he can’t help thinking. _I don’t belong anywhere. I don’t matter. I’m not wanted._

It’s things he’s thought before, they resonate somewhere deep in him. These aren’t his demons – the kanima aspects of them makes it clear who they’re here for – and yet Isaac can’t move forward. He feels his breath catch in his throat somewhere far away, somewhere where breathing matters. Emotions are swelling in him, familiar and demeaning. Loneliness, inadequacy, worthlessness. 

_No. Laura wanted me. Laura loved me._ That’s Derek’s not-voice, strong and assertive. _My family loved me._

 _But they’re gone, all gone_ , the things whisper. Like Isaac’s mom. She left after the second time his dad hit her. She left and didn’t fight for him.

 _My mother’s still here._ It’s Scott this time. _She’s here, and she cares. Allison cares, too, even after everything. And Stiles. Stiles cares about me, and he cares about Derek, too._

Isaac can feel Derek’s strength grow, and Scott’s a solid presence next to him. It helps steady him a little, helps him remember the way Scott smiles at him, the way Derek is sometimes overly protective of him. The feel of Peter’s arms around him.

 _I might have been abandoned, but I found a new family. However messed up it is,_ he thinks. _And Jackson has Lydia._

 _Yes._ That’s Jackson. For the first time since these nightmarish images came to them, he seems to start pulling himself together. _Even if she’s all I have, she’s worth it. She’s worth everything._

 _And you have us._ That’s Derek again, surer, stronger. _If you want us. When you want us. We can be pack to you, and you to us._

There’s a warmth coming off of Derek, that familiar Alpha acceptance that he lets Isaac feel on occasion. It wraps around them all, and the monsters scurry away. Isaac feels relieved beyond words, like a weight was lifted off his chest, even though he has no physical sense of himself. He feels like yes, they can beat these demons.

The rest isn’t easy though. Derek’s guilt over the death of his family, his sister, it hits Isaac hard. If he hadn’t called Matt that night, nothing would have happened. His dad wouldn’t have turned into a monster, and neither would have his friend. Scott’s fear of the people he loves getting hurt – his mother, Allison, Stiles – is less hard on Isaac and Jackson than it is on Derek and Scott, obviously, but they all have a tough time pushing through it. 

When the wraiths of Scott’s loved ones scatter away, Isaac’s fear kicks in before anything else happens. Because he knows what comes next. They wait in silence for it, tension rising in the air.

It doesn’t come in the shape of his father holding out a belt. It doesn’t whisper demeaning words to tell him how worthless, useless and weak he is. That he could have faced, he could have found the words and the feelings and the strength to fight. Instead, it creeps up on them, until Isaac can feel panic close around him, trap him. 

If he had fingers, he would try to claw his way out. If he had lungs, he’d be screaming for help until his throat hurts too much. The blunt terror of being trapped feels almost worse in this incorporeal world than it did in the basement. Isaac can’t think, can’t feel past it. 

He doesn’t know for how long he stays lost in that feeling, it could be minutes or hours or _years_ , really. But suddenly he feels something else, like a tug. At first it only adds to the terror, because something’s trying to get at him while he can’t do anything. There’s a presence at the other end of the tug, something that feels like ash and rot and _wrong_. Almost like something dead. But not quite. There’s also warmth and want and freaking concern. The memory of a soothing hand on his shoulder.

_Peter._

Peter is tugging on the pack bond. He’s calling to him, and calling to Derek. Isaac clings to it, to the feel of Peter in his mind and of Derek’s consciousness close to him. He joins his not voice to Peter’s in calling their Alpha, pulling both Derek and himself out of the isolating terror. When they do shake it off, Isaac tries to convey thanks and reassurances back through the bond, then concern for Scott and Jackson. Because he can feel their presence now, and feel them panic. He doesn’t know how to reach them.

 _I’ve got this._ Derek sounds both resolute and unsure at the same time. _I’ve got them._

And Isaac can feel Derek’s presence – aura? – grow stronger, more powerful, just _more_ , while he starts feeling slightly weaker. It’s okay though, because Derek’s strength can protect him, it wraps over him and Scott and Jackson like a warm blanket. So that’s what it feels like when an Alpha calls on the strength of his pack. 

For a moment, as the two Omegas grasp on the pack bond to pull themselves out of the terror, Isaac can feel them all: Derek and Peter, Scott and Jackson, and through them even Lydia and Stiles. For a moment, they’re all _his_ , all _pack_.

But once the terror dissolves –the angry voice of Isaac’s father hissing in the emptiness of the Not Dream before disappearing– the new bonds kind of fade away as Scott and Jackson retreat, shutting themselves from the bond. Not completely, which is better than nothing, Isaac supposes, but enough for him to barely be able to feel them.

The next step _is_ easy. The Alphas’ minds are almost like a shining beacon in the emptiness that’s left behind after the monsters’ departure, and they’re not expecting to be attacked from here. Their move had been subtle, trying to unsettle the Beacon Hills werewolves so they could take them out, or recruit the strongest of them.

Their little mind game has left them open and vulnerable. It’s easy to slip in, to rummage through their memories and their fears, to push the worst ones to the forefront of the Alphas’ minds, blowing them out of proportion.

The hard part is to get out of there on time, to not let these new monsters and terrors drown them too. Because if the things they faced earlier were bad, what’s lurking in these Alphas’ minds is so much worse. Isaac clings to the pack bond, lets it pull him back to reality.

He can feel himself shaking when he opens his eyes. He’s holding tight to Derek’s arm, half-sprawled over his Alpha, and he can feel the weight of Scott on his legs. They’re all stirring, they’re all safe, but Isaac can’t stop the trembling of his hands, the chatter of his teeth

“Can we...?” That’s Lydia’s voice, all shaking worry.

“Go ahead,” Deaton tells her, and Isaac can hear her and Stiles rushing to them.

When Isaac raises his head, he can see Jackson burying his face in Lydia’s neck, Stiles wrapping his arms around Scott and smiling softly at Derek over his best friend’s shoulder. A warm hand lands on the back of his neck, and Isaac leans back into it. Peter’s thumb rubs circles on his skin and Isaac turns around, wraps his arms around Peter’s shoulders and buries his face in the older man’s chest.

“Why did it have to be me?” he asks, still shaken up. He knows it makes him look weak, but right now he _feels_ weak, and terrible. “Why couldn’t you do it?”

Peter rests his chin on the top of Isaac’s head, caressing his back. Either he doesn’t care that everyone’s looking at them or he’s actually enjoying the audience, Isaac couldn’t say, but it doesn’t matter right now.

“I didn’t get nightmares,” Peter says after a small silence. “I couldn’t get to that place you went if I had tried. I don’t sleep, Isaac. Ever.”

It should come as a shock, a reminder of exactly how broken Peter is. But Isaac’s never forgotten that. Even now, pressed against Peter’s warm chest, he can smell the very faint traces of ash and death under everything else that makes up Peter’s scent.

The Alphas are found by the local police in the end. They’d been hiding out in a motel a few miles outside of town. The owners call the cops when they hear the screams from inside after they knock on the door a few times.

It makes the headlines, because it’s not every day you find six people mostly catatonic except for a few violent outbursts. Especially people who had been acting normally until then, even though they seemed “a bit shady”, in the words of the motel owner.

The positive outcome of that terrible night is that Jackson and Scott start hanging out at the Hale house. They’re not quite ready to join the pack yet, not fully, but it’s a first step, one that makes Isaac smile happily when he thinks no one can see him.

The nightmares don’t come back, but he lets Peter back in his bed anyway, let’s the other man teach him the many ways to feel good. Even the ones that leave him shaking and begging for release while Peter chuckles against his skin. Even the ones that send his pulse racing, half in fear. He especially loves those. And if it makes him broken, he doesn’t care, because Peter is broken with him.

He lives in a world where there are werewolves and kanimas and hunters and God knows what. A world where veterinarians are magic experts and you can walk into someone else’s worst nightmares. He lives in a world where you can share a roof and a bed with the undead. But it’s a world where he’s strong, where he always seems to win in the end. It’s all worth it.


End file.
